No One Would
by CloveShadow
Summary: During his sixth year at Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy was asked for the impossible. Struggling and stressed, he never did what he should have: tell Dumbledore. An obnoxious Slytherin girl finds out and does what no one else did, or would do.
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer:**_ If I owned Harry Potter, it would have ended a lot differently.

__**_Something I whipped up in an hour or so. If there's any spelling/grammar/world knowledge mistakes, just tell me and I'll correct them._**

* * *

><p><em><strong>No One Would Have<strong>_

"You hear about Bell?" Blaise asked when he came back from Hogsmeade. "I suppose you didn't."

I looked up from my Transfiguration textbook. For the most part, being a Death Eater wasn't as fun as I thought it would be. The mission was taking too long, and it took too much of my focus from school—even if it wouldn't matter in the end, I still had to remain above suspicion. I had served detention with McGonagall and had to stay at the castle while the others went to the villiage.

"No."

"She was cursed." Blaise pulled up a chair beside me in the common room and leaned closer. "Really badly. Maybe even a compact Crucio. They say it was some sort of necklace that held it."

I froze. A necklace? _The _necklace? I try to remain cool as I put down _Intermediate Transfiguration_.

"Do they know who did it?" I asked as casually as I can.

Blaise frowned. He must've heard the waver in my voice.

"No. Rumours are flying, though. Everyone thinks it must be the Death Eaters, that they've infiltrated Hogwarts." He smirked and glanced briefly at my forearm. "Have they?"

I was about to give him a lecture that being a Death Eater was much more serious than he thought it was, a life or death thing, or retort that I had no idea, when I realized that Blaise knew that I was one. Not a guess, he really knew. I guessed I must've been too vocal on the train.

"Maybe, maybe not." I smiled and pick up my book, looking at the words without taking one in. I knew all this stuff already, but I couldn't look Blaise in the eye. He just suddenly seemed so young, like he didn't know anything. Not anything like I knew, at least. Not the fear that you may be responsible for the death of your family. Not the horror as you look into the Dark Lord's red eyes. Not the dark satisfaction that you feel when you think you can do what no one else has ever done.

"Do they know if she's gonna make it?" I took a deep breath as I waited for the answer.

"That's just it. No one knows what caused it, or even what spell or Dark magic was on it. Without that..." Blaise trails off. I didn't like that it was a pureblood of all people, even a blood traitor, and I didn't want her to die. "See you later, Draco." He claps me on the shoulder and passes, interrupting my thoughts.

"Where're you going?" I called as he left.

"To spread the news!" he yelled back.

I threw down my book and heard his excited footsteps trail off, glad to play the Grim Reaper. Defiantly young.

I went into my room and fall onto my bed, casting a locking charm behind me. A cold dread seeped into me as I start to shake. I almost killed someone. I was meant to kill Dumbledore. I wondered if the Dark Lord was going to kill Mother to make sure I was more accurate next time.

Somehow, I thought not. He didn't want any pureblood to die, but he probably didn't care about a blood traitor like Bell. I did. I knew her, I played Quidditch against her, I _met_ her. It would probably be a bit different if it was someone I didn't know, but I knew Katie Bell.

I hoped that she would make it, that she barely touched the necklace, or that her hair fell into it. I hoped that she hadn't held it in her hand or tried to put it on. I didn't want her dead. I wanted _Dumbledore_ dead. The old coot. He killed so many people! Bell was just another! If he died then the Malfoy name would be restored, my family's safety guaranteed for the rest of the War. We could live through the war if I killed Dumbledore, I needed to. But first I needed to know if my first victim was alright.

I put a hand to my face and am shocked to feel tears. I wipe them away and brush the killing thoughts aside. I need to go to the Hospital Wing.

What the hell am I doing? I ask myself as I make my way up to the Wing. I put her in here and now I want to see her?

Regardless of my thoughts, I knocked on the Hospital Wing's tall, thick doors and waited.

"What are you doing here, Mr Malfoy?" Madam Pomfrey demanded when she finally opened the door. More unkindly than she would have to another visitor, I thought.

"I'm—I'm here to see Ka—someone," I stumbled out.

She glared at me with distrust in her eyes and I knew what she was seeing. A half-terrified, wide-eyed pureblooded Slytherin who wanted to see someone when the Wing was stocked with Gryffindors.

"Come in," she finally said.

I went in and scanned the beds quickly. All Gryffs. I spotted Bell easily; I had played her in Quidditch a few times and even though I had always been paying attention to Potter, Bell had been a good Chaser and scored most of the points for Gryffindor, or at least had taken the most shots.

Her dark brown hair was folded neatly behind her, but her eyes were closed and she, quite frankly, looked dead. I sat on the edge of her bed and loosened my tie. I could feel sweat trickle down the back of my neck. I hadn't wanted this. In a war, there are always casualties but I hadn't expected to take one down myself. I knew that I had to kill Dumbledore sooner or later, but that's _Dumbledore_, the Dark Lord's enemy. He deserved to die. The crashing reality of death almost made my shoulders buckle. What had Katie Bell had done? Nothing. She was even pureblood herself! Even if she wasn't, I still knew her. She shouldn't have been laying there, unconscious, recovering from a Dark curse. She should've been awake and unharmed.

I reached out with my hand and took hers lightly. Hers was clammy and cold. I felt something then that I had never felt before in my whole life. Regret. Sadness. Guilt. They all mingled into one emotion that I just barely knew the name of, but had only just found out how it could _hurt_.

"I'm sorry," I whispered so softly that even Madam Pomfrey couldn't hear. "I didn't mean for this to happen. Really, you have to believe me. I'm sorry you got hurt, but in a war..." I couldn't finish. My throat choked up and I decided that I needed to be more careful, more precise. No one else must be hurt.

I stood up quietly and left without a word. I looked at Katie Bell again before leaving and one thought ran through my mind, _I did that. I nearly killed her._

The next day, I heard Potter and Weasely talking about Bell, saying how they were sure that it was me, that it was my fault that she had landed in the Hospital Wing, only to be moved to St. Mungo's. That scared me. When had she moved? Was she going to recover? How did they know it was me?

I glared at the two of them. They didn't take notice of it, but I wanted to scream at them, _I didn't want for this to happen! I even visited her! I'm sorry!_ Then I realized that even if they really knew it was me that did it, I didn't want anyone to know that I had visited Katie Bell.

Never.

I at least had a better plan for next time. It was perfect. Many people sent Dumbledore gifts for his birthday and, as I knew, you didn't look at everything before digging into the presents.

I made sure to do my Transfiguration homework so I could go to his next Hogsmeade trip. This time, I went straight into the Three Broomsticks alone and went behind the counter into the back; no one questioned me. Even though she held the fake Galleon that the Mudblood had given the idea for, I knew that person to person was better for the curse.

I had a good grip on my wand. I thought,_ Come, Rosmerta, come._ A few agonizing minutes later, Rosmerta came. Her eyes were blank and unfocused, a sign that the curse was still working.

I said, very quietly, "I want you to poison a bottle of mead using _this_." I rummaged in my coat before finding a small bottle of poison that Aunt Bella had sent. She had said that it was impossible to detect, only by drinking. "Attach a card that says, _Happy Birthday, Albus. I hope you enjoy this. Wishes from Rosmerta._ Give it to Slughorn the next time he comes, telling him to give it to Dumbledore. Alright?"

"Yes." She took the bottle, responding dully, not moving, hardly breathing, a complete and total zombie.

"Go," I ordered shakily, moving the wand away from her. She instantly was normal, only when he pointed the wand to her would she obey.

How was I to know that Weasely would end up drinking the wine?

* * *

><p>I jerked myself to the present. I got up and decided to go back to see if I could squeeze in a few more hours' work before bed. I opened the Room as I always did, but I winced as I did it. I thought about the last time I had spent the night in there. Not the most pleasant, and probably the most embarrassing thing I would ever do.<p>

Even I had a limit. And this, apparently, was it.

I had just nearly killed another. I was only meant to kill Dumbledore, not the whole school! DUMBLEDORE!

It was worse than I had thought; the Weasel was nearly dead because of that. Sure, I hated him, but I hated him in a I-want-to-make-your-life-miserable sort of thing. Not a I-hate-you-and-want-you-dead thing!

I closed the door to the Room a bit harder than necessary. More or less, I slammed it and the bang echoed off the cluttered room. No, I thought furiously, running my hands through my white hair nervously. This can't be happening! This just can't! Weasely wasn't meant to come anywhere _near _the bottle!

"How did this happen?" I yelled.

The fear of not being able to complete the mission and having my family killed was obscured by a different fear; what if I kept failing and failing until I killed Potter? The Dark Lord wasn't going to appreciate _that_ very much. He would have my mother and me tortured into insanity for that, then slowly eaten alive or... or something more painful; my imagination didn't stretch so far.

"Stupid Dark Lord! Duty! Loyalty! What does it all matter?"

With every word I let out a kick among all the disregarded stuff that surrounded me.

"We're all going to end up dead anyway, why does it matter what side you're on?"

I finally collapsed into tears. I ripped back my left sleeve and looked at the Mark; the reason that I was asked to do the impossible. The dark skull was stark against my pale skin. I wanted it off, no matter the consequences. No matter what happened, I wanted it off. Away. Anywhere but on me.

I dragged my bitten-down nails over my skin again and again. It didn't do much; my nails were so short that only my fingertips were dragged across my skin. Not breaking it, not doing anything except making the skin turn red. I stopped and just sat there for God knew how long, eyes closed, just trying to forget.

I didn't want to do this. I didn't want to know that Mother would die because I couldn't kill, because I couldn't do one thing. No matter what glory, forgiveness and privileges the Dark Lord would grant them, I wasn't sure that anything would be worth this. It was impossible. And I was just a kid. Nothing more, nothing less. Just a kid.

I couldn't finish the Vanishing Cabinet. It was broken beyond repair. It was probably just luck that Montague had managed to Apparate out – out of reach of Hogwarts's Anti-Apparition charms.

The other Death Eaters couldn't Apparate into Hogwarts, and there was no other way _into _Hogwarts, unless you counted Polyjuice Potion—Snape could make some—and I put those the Death Eaters impersonated out of action. I didn't count it; there were too many things that could go wrong, too risky. The Vanishing Cabinet idea was no worse, but far harder. Snape couldn't help; he didn't know the slightest thing about mending one. And no one else at Hogwarts could help me. No one.

_C'mon, Draco. Don't go down that road._

I physically shook myself and stood up. The hundreds and hundreds of objects still amazed me, even though I had been practically living in the Room of Hidden Things for the past five—or had it been six?—months. There were confiscated or illegal things, textbooks lost long ago, and many other things that I didn't see as I walked to the back.

I had settled down to another night of poring over books of magical maintenance, hoping and praying that I was using the right spells and that I wasn't going to fail.

Alright, I told myself. The past is in the past, the present is here and it would be rude to not accept this gift. I can do it. I can do it...

I whipped the black sheet off the triangular box and looked it over again. The image wasn't exactly helpful. There were scratches and dents here and there from Peeve's mayhem. I muttered a spell. I waved my wand over it, from top to bottom and inside too, careful to not close the door. Every now and then, the wand would tingle or even waver. That indicated where magical damage was, Aunt Bella said.

"This is impossible," I said warily as my wand shook so hard that I nearly dropped it.

Magical damage accumulated faster than I could fix it. What had Aunt Bella said? Magical damage can be caused by lack of potions or spells, or by abuse or incorrect spells and potions that were applied? Yeah, that was it. The cabinet wasn't beyond saving, but it would require more regular maintaining than I could give. I would need to skip lessons and that was out of the question if I was to be above suspicion. It was impossible.

I turned around to find my books in the mess. I would straighten the place out, but someone might notice that it was out of order. So I sifted through half the contents of a desk before finding three books.

_Marvellous Magical Maintenance _was a thick book bound with leather, looking a hundred years old. I had known why it was here; many of the "maintenance" was for Dark objects or charming other things illegally or Darkly. Luckily, there was a chapter on Vanishing Cabinets. Most of it was different places you could go to get help; apparently, trying to fix a Vanishing Cabinet without consulting a professional was "unadvised" and "potentially harmful to yourself and others."

_Famous Vanishers of Our Time _was a boring volume. I wasn't sure why it was here, but I knew that some Vanishing Cabinets, if entered, were very dangerous. There were also spells and other charms for vanishing or concealing. Objects were included as well, from Cloaks to Socks—but he was only interested in the few pages about Vanishing Cabinets. Those few pages were helpful, they had a large diagram on it (I was glad I was good at Transfiguration) that had the parts and magic that was around it; explaining how it worked.

_Repairing the Unrepairable _wasn't as helpful as I would've liked, but it did have a small portion dedicated to Vanishing Cabinets—most just having the same places for assistance, but there was a single spell that was a bit useful. It slowed down the magical damage, at least. Not as much as I would've liked, or as much as Aunt Bella said some spells did, but it would have to do.

I spent the next four hours muttering every repairing spell I knew from the books, the library and my mind, the complicated words coming out smoothly. Every half hour I would test the magic damage and each time it would be less and less, but I knew that when I came back the next day it would be just as bad as it had been before I had started the routine. Again.

When I finally stopped, I went back to the common room. I thought that I could grab a book and put it in front of me, so I had an excuse when I fell asleep in front of the fire. The black leather chairs and silver and emerald green hangings never seemed so inviting. I just opened the common room when I saw that there was someone else in there. At six in the morning, there were usually the odd brainiac or someone who was sleeping with half way done homework in front of them. I was planning on pretending to be the latter, even though my average was O for Outstanding.

This girl was neither. Tracey Davies was wide awake and had a knowing smirk for me when I stumbled through, half-dead from lack of sleep and stress. Damn, I thought dazedly. That rules out sleeping today. I wanted to fall into my soft bed, nothing seemed so good—

"Where were you?"

I jumped as if I had received an electric shock and was, at once, completely awake. My first instinct was to reply, "Nothing" but I knew that it wouldn't work with Davies, that girl knew when you were lying.

So I said, "No where you should tell Pansy."

There! Not a lie, but not the whole truth.

"Really?" There was a glint in her eyes that I knew too well. "Liar," she drawled and walked over to me. Her voice turned low and dangerous. Suddenly I was reminded that Tracey didn't like me very much. "Look, Malfoy. I don't know where you were or what you were doing and, quite frankly, I don't give a damn. Pansy told me about some mission for the Dark Lord you were doing, or that you'd hinted at."

I shrugged. Same difference to Pansy.

"I'm pretty sure you were doing that." Her next words were said carefully, very clearly, and very emotionlessly and struck my worst of all possible fears. It was quite different to have it said aloud in a place I knew than ranted to a cluttered room I only just found out about. "I don't want to know what it is," she continued, almost coldly, "but I do know that whatever it is, you can't do it. Not—at—all. You are going to fail, and he is going to kill you, Malfoy."

Damn, I forget this was the sister of a Ravenclaw. In my best attempt to put on an amused expression, I felt myself go even paler. I didn't bother denying that I was doing a mission; that was in the open. "Why do you think I'm going to fail?"

"Because even if I don't like you, I know you well enough to say that you aren't normal," she said, and if I didn't know her better, I would have said she was being sympathetic. "You haven't been for most of the year. You don't look normal, you don't act normal. I know better and I'm sure that something's not right. Your mission isn't going well, is it, Malfoy?" she whispered, her eyes locking with mine. Blue with grey flecks. I knew that I couldn't talk myself out now, but I had to try.

"It's going just fine. Thanks for your concern," I said sarcastically.

I tried to walk past her, but Tracey held me in place and said, again, "Liar. It's not going well, and you, the _great _Draco Malfoy, is scared. If it was anything else, I'd leave you alone, but I can't. This is too serious, this is _real_. Not Hogwarts crap that isn't going to mean much in a few years, and just get you a detention. This is life or death. It's too late me. I know for real now. I'm in too deep." She looked down, her dark hair falling in front of her face. "If you jump, I jump," she muttered.

"What?" I asked, completely lost.

She blushed and turned away. "I got too caught up. It's a line from a new Muggle movie my mother enjoyed. Trust me, though, you _aren't_ my type."

Half-blood, I remembered. "Can I go to bed now?"

She turned back, back to cool, almost cold Tracy Davies. "No." She pulled the front of my shirt and shoved me into a chair. I didn't struggle, too weak and too tired to care or fight back. "You're going to tell me what it's about," she said, putting her hands on the arms of the chair she pushed me in, and leaning rather closer than I would've liked. Her eyes flicked to my left arm. She looked back at me meaningfully. Her fingers inched up my sleeve and flipped my arm over. I didn't care. I was going to die. Someone might as well know what I am. She seemed to gather herself and pulled my sleeve back completely, up to the elbow.

I observed her carefully. The black snake and skull slithered lazily, and I remembered that she wasn't Dark per se. She was one of the very rare Slytherins who were just—just Slytherins, not Dark. I waited for anger, hatred, fear. And I waited, but they never came.

"Oh," she said. Her voice changed, her face changed—very subtly but enough. It was... softer, almost pitying. Pity was certainly not something I had expected. "You have no idea what you're getting in to, do you?" she asked, her voice turning a little cooler but still pitying. She wretched her eyes from my Mark and searched my face.

I pushed her away with a force she didn't expect. I jerked my sleeve down again. That sentence set me off. "You think I don't know what _this_ means?" I whispered furiously. "I was _chosen_ for this! This is _my_ moment! _My _time to shine!"

She was lying on the ground but then she jumped up, just as angry as I was. "Even _you_, Malfoy, know that's a load of bullshit!" she hissed. We were both worried about waking up the other Slytherins. "This could get people killed! You already landed Katie Bell and Ron Weasely in St. Mungo's! I don't think the Dark Lord wanted _them_ dead—they were accidents, weren't they?"

I paled every further. "Of course they were," I whispered, guilt replacing anger. "I'm—I'm—" I was an inch from telling _Tracey_ _Davies,_ of all people, my mission. I didn't particularly trust her but maybe that was why I wanted to tell her: she was the first one who was asking me seriously, not for gossip, but for—_me_.

"What's the job? Who're you meant to off? Harry Potter or Dumbledore?" she asked, her voice still hard.

"The second one," I said, horrified at what I had betrayed. But I didn't care anymore. I really didn't. The Death Eaters I didn't owe any loyalty to; my Mother I did. "And I need to get... _them_ into Hogwarts."

She scoffed. "Come on, Draco. Even you wouldn't be that stupid; you know how many people could die. All the glory and—and things the Dark Lord could offer wouldn't convince—Oh." She stopped suddenly, something coming together. "The Dark Lord wouldn't get any underage wizard to kill Dumbledore; he chose you for another reason. Your father—he failed, he's in Azkaban. You're meant to fail, you're mother is meant to suffer."

"Why do you care?" I exploded. "Honestly, Davies! Tell me, why do you care what I'm doing for the Dark Lord?"

She blinked, surprised at my outburst. "Because it's killing you, Draco, and I know you. Then—you know what _I'm_ scared of? You're absolutely terrified of failing, but I'm terrified that you might actually succeed. You're sixteen and you're chosen to _kill_ someone." Her voice held a strange excitement now. "My advice: go to Dumbledore. He'll help you. He can protect you. I'm positive. He helps everyone who's willing to go against the Dark Lord."

I laughed darkly. "What? You think I can just turn my back on the Death Eaters? You think I can just run to Dumbledore and apologise for being sent to kill him? I've been chosen, yeah, but you think I have the _choice_ to turn away from this?" I shouted. "Just because I'm chosen, doesn't mean I have a choice! Hold on." I stopped short. "When did you start calling me _Draco_?"

"Since you told me the Dark Lord wanted you to kill Dumbledore and get Death Eaters into Hogwarts," she said quietly. "Now, get out," she snapped. Tracy grabbed my arm and steered me from the common room.

"Why?" I pulled my arm free.

"You're waking up everyone," she said, still walking down the stone dungeons. I thought about it, then jogged back up with her. We walked down the stone halls of Hogwarts, early morning light streaming onto the rugs. I kept careful mark of how far away Dumbledore's office was. "You need to talk to Dumbledore," she said.

I sighed and looked at her. I was good at reading people; she was scared, really horrified at how far the Dark Lord would go. "I can't," I said. I checked the halls and shoved her into a broom cupboard, following her and shutting the door. "Look, I'd—I'd love to, I'd really like the protection, but _Snape_," I spat the name hatefully. "He's a Death Eater and the Dark Lord has my mother, ready to kill and torture. I _can't_, I really can't. I just can't. I can't," I repeated in a broken whisper.

Awkwardly, Davies put a hand on my arm. I flinched, ready to tear my arm back put she just rested her hand there, semi-comfortingly. Her eyes darkened. "Alright. I won't force you." She sighed heavily.

My eyes swept over her suspiciously. "You're not telling Dumbledore either," I ordered.

She just laughed. "Malfoy, you're not ordering me around like Crabbe and Goyle. I'll do what I want, and I don't want to tell Dumbledore. If he's going to know then you're going to tell him."

I smiled and said, "Good," and walked away. I tried to organize my hair a bit and straightened my shirt, covering my Mark. I resolved to keep a close eye on Tracy Davies from that day on.

* * *

><p>Tracy was never a tattle-tale, but she was an excellent liar. Even good enough to convince the paranoid, edgy Draco Malfoy. Poor guy, she thought, shaking her head. He was out of his mind with stress and fear. She loved being Slytherin but sometimes, just sometimes, she thought she would be more suited to Hufflepuff; she cared at least a little about everyone she knew. Even the obnoxious, arrogant Draco Malfoy, enough to save his life.<p>

That was why not ten minutes after getting shoved into a broom closet by Malfoy—an action that had seriously unnerved her—she was outside Dumbledore's office. She had already asked a seventh year who knew the password. "Acid pops," she said and the gargoyle moved, the staircase spinning upwards.

Tracy didn't care if Draco hated her, he just had to live. No one deserved being manipulated and used like that, even Malfoy. And the now-famous Granger slap was what the most he deserved. She hammered on Dumbledore's door with that thought pounding in her ears. "Professor!" she called.

A quiet voice said, "Come in," and she pushed the door open hard in her nervousness. Dumbledore's office had to be one of the strangest places in Hogwarts—and that was saying something. Strange spindly instruments stood on odd shaped tables and on the walls; thick books lined massive shelves, and Dumbledore himself sat at a great desk in the centre, writing something.

He put down his quill. "Sit," he said, offering the seat in front of his desk. She did and refused to fidget with her robes, but she did avoid his eye. "What, pray tell, gives me the pleasure of your company, Miss Davies?" he asked curiously, continuing writing.

Tracy looked directly at the Headmaster. With long silver hair, twinkling blue eyes and a kind smile, she didn't know if this man would be able to protect the Malfoys or just end up getting them killed. "It's about Draco Malfoy, sir," she finally said.

His eyebrows rose marginally, but that was the only sign he was surprised by her words. "Yes?"

"He's—" Tracy bit her lip. Maybe she should just drag Draco up here himself. "He's been made a Death Eater," she said quickly. "Sir," she tacked on.

He stopped writing and looked at her heavily. It was a long time before he spoke again, but when he did, it rendered her speechless. "I know," he said.

Tracy's mouth dropped open. "But—but—sir! One of your students is made a Death Eater and you don't—don't—" She fumbled for words, too angry to find the proper ones.

"What is he planning to do?"

"Kill you," she said. "Sir."

His eyebrows rose a little again. "This _is_ interesting," he said after a long moment. "Is he being threatened or...?"

"His mother, I guess, sir," Tracy said. "Can you do something? He's a blood—sorry, sir—he's a wreck."

Dumbledore looked like he was going to smile.

"And he's meant to get Death Eaters into Hogwarts, sir," she added.

He stopped smiling, then. "That wasn't something I was aware of." If possible, he sounded as concerned as lazy cat on a summer's day. "How?"

"I don't know. Sir." Tracy looked down at her hands. "If I did, I would have stopped him."

Dumbledore stood up and started pacing. He went to something that looked like an old fashioned astrologer's ball; several bronze rings in different orders. They seemed to be moving slightly on the central axis. "Does he know you came here?"

"No, sir." Tracy almost laughed. "He actually told me _not_ to. He thinks he's going to get his mother killed."

"He doesn't want to do this?" prompted Dumbledore.

"No, sir. I don't think so."

Dumbledore reached out a hand into the bronze rings and tapped one of him with a long finger. It gave off a loud, resonating ring. He listened for a moment, then sat back in his chair. For a long time, he didn't say anything. When he did speak, he chose his words carefully, speaking slowly and deliberately. "Thank you, Miss Davies, for telling me this. Sadly, we cannot let our friend in on it. He must continue to slave away until I can smuggle his parents to safety. That might take a week or so, then, he will leave Hogwarts and go to that safe house himself. Voldemort cannot touch him there."

Tracy flinched at the name but Dumbledore ploughed on.

"Once the Malfoys are safe, you have never heard of this mission. Draco never told you and you and he have never discussed him being a Death Eater. Is that understood?"

A wave of relief, so strong it nearly made her black out, washed over Tracy. She knew, right then, that she had done the right thing. Who knows? Maybe she saved the Malfoys' lives.

She beamed, positively drunk with happiness. Dumbledore always took care of everything. "Of course, sir. Completely understood."


	2. Chapter 2

_**Disclaimer:**_ If I owned Harry Potter, it would have ended a lot differently.

**_This is chapter 2, just like an epilogue. Something to properly round it all off.  
><em>**

* * *

><p>Dumbledore kept his promise. Two weeks later, Draco was mysteriously taken from the school and the Malfoys vanished from the face of the Earth. No story was made up. The school had its own versions, but no one knew the truth and every story varied from the next.<p>

Tracy had a spring in her step, until the night she was awoken from her sleep by Pansy, who slept next to her. Pansy told her, wide-eyed and excited, that Snape had killed Dumbledore. Even though she was barely awake, awareness shot into her like an IV was stuck in her. Her stomach dropped out and her heart leaped to her mind.

The world changed from that point on. The Dark Lord took over, and WANTED posters glared out from Diagon Alley. Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and, unfortunately, the Malfoys. Announcements were made as Muggle-borns were rounded up and tagged, like a herd of cattle.

Hogwarts wasn't Hogwarts any longer, as her Head of House became Headmaster, and the Carrows punished everyone for being humane. Tracy was one of those who were beaten the hardest outside of Gryffindors. Neville came one night, promised her safety, and took her to the fabled Room of Requirement. No one welcomed the Slytherin, but Tracy borrowed one of Luna's spare ties and called herself a Ravenclaw. Hard months and a fight followed. Fake Galleons were used sort of like Muggle phones, like texting, and a group of adults (or near adults; Tracy recognised the Weasley brothers) entered.

Eventually, Draco came. That is where our story picks up.

Tracy broke apart from the hug, only reluctantly. Reunions were still going on around her. She didn't suspect she had long, so she said only one word, "Talk."

Boy, did Draco talk. As he did, Tracy inspected him. He looked even paler than usual and he was much thinner—and he was never a large boy—than when she saw him last. His hair was longer and unkept, also it was a tad darker, but the starkest different was in his face. He was scared, yes, petrified, but his eyes sparkled with a new life that Tracy had never seen him in. He talked differently, too. The very fact that he was even there proved he had changed.

"Dumbledore set us up at Grimmauld Place, some house in Muggle London that was under the Fidelius charm. When Dumbledore died, we went to the Weasleys' house—protective spells, enchantments, you name it—but last August, the Death Eaters attacked the Burrow and my parents Apperated us to America. I know, cross-country Apparition is illegal, but we went to the Wizarding Embassy and they understood—sort of. I mean, we stayed in a hotel in New York for months with no defence and they didn't send anyone over here. Potter gave us one of those magic coins and I've been watching it since. When it changed, I had this big fight with my parents, but—hey, I'm here. Good God, I'm never Apperating overseas ever again. It hurts like mad." He rubbed his shoulders and cracked his neck.

Tracy hugged him again. When they were ordered to stay there and, basically, babysit Ginny Weasley. Apparently, Draco and her had struck up a bit of a friendship. Draco looked at her, then Tracy and said, "Ten minutes and we'll leave, but you've gotta stay with us. Deal?"

The redhead nodded, satisfied, and played with her wand. "You know any Dark spells that could help us?"

Draco smirked and spent the next nine minutes teaching Ginny and Tracy various Dark defensive spells and a few offensive. Nothing Unforgivable, but most illegal.

At last, they went downstairs. Nightmare. There were no words for what was going on down there. Through some miracle of Merlin, they managed to stay alive. The same couldn't be said for Fred and when Tracy went into the Great Hall, she saw Draco standing around with the rest of the Weasleys.

Voldemort was dead. The wounded were being taken care of; the dead found and the families notified. The Wizarding World would get back to normal eventually, but now was when everything was on its way.

Tracy sat outside, near the lake, where the least damage had been done. The giant squid had played its part and dead bodies were in the high branches of various trees behind her. Cautious, the creature edged towards the shallows and it seemed to realise that the fight was over. It let Tracy stroke its tentacles and suckers.

"Hey."

"Hey."

Draco sat down beside her, pulling his knees up to his chin. "Potter's doing well," he said.

"Mmm-hmmm."

"You know, I think I should hate you."

Tracy laughed. "I know, but the past year has changed both of us. I'm not that much of a scheming bitch, and you're not that much of a weak bastard." He laughed at that. "There are more important things." They said it at the same time and this time, Tracy laughed, too.

"I was really scared to tell Dumbledore in case this didn't work out," said Draco.

"I know." Tracy stopped petting the squid, who let out a moan that sounded like a whale. "Oh, shut up." She started petting it again and it nudged her hand. "There was something like a ninety percent chance that your family would die if you didn't, but only a fifty-fifty chance if you did. So I did."

"Why did you even bother?" asked Draco. "I mean, you barely spoke to me before demanding what was going on."

Tracy chewed on the inside of her cheek. "This was the beginning, and not of something good. For me, you were a wakeup call. My family's always been very 'Voldemort's gonna come back and the world's going to turn into hell.' I never really believed that but you made me open my eyes. I knew a lot of people were going to die and if one of them was going to be you, and I had done nothing when I could've, I would've hated myself. I was the only Slytherin smart enough to put the pieces together, and the only one with enough heart to do something. If I hadn't, no one would have."

"I really, really dislike you. You saved my life and my parents' lives but you're really unlikeable." Draco laughed at the absurdity of it.

"I know. I've gotten better, though." Tracy looked at him carefully. Malfoy was always a massive prat, but if he had changed the way she had... well. He would be more than decent. She was a half-blood, but she didn't care right then. "You used to be really unlikeable, too, you know."

"I was an arsehole." Draco shrugged, like "no biggie".

"_Was_ being the key word." Tracy stopped petting the squid, who moaned again. She couldn't believe she was actually going to throw herself at Draco Malfoy. Since Pansy had shouted "blood traitor" and various other names, she probably had a fighting chance. "Maybe we could show each other how much we've changed."

Draco smiled. "New York's awesome, and I actually have the money to enjoy it."

Tracy stood up. "After we get everything sorted out over here, like funerals and apologies, then we can book two tickets on an airline."

He stood up, too. "That sounds great."

They walked back to the half-destroyed castle filled with the dead and dying, the path was lined with trees sprinkled with dead bodies and the morning light inched across the once-immaculate lawns. But, in the ruined world, Tracy decided that maybe one good thing could come out of it.

Now, she really hoped Draco never watched _Titanic_.


End file.
